Christen hung from the horizontal ladder by her arms, her lungs burning, muscles aching, chest heaving with fatigue, while she silently cursed the watch on her arm, Strickland, Commander Chekov, and the entire A23 project.

She didn't even feel this human when she was human. Her legs were like jelly, she had a stitch in her side, nausea backed up in her throat, and she had a headache, but worst of all, this day was far from over.

Going from superhuman to that kid no one wants on their team wasn't fun.

The watch forced her to work twice as hard as anyone else, and Sarah Chekov zoomed in on her with unerring accuracy as the "loser" that would bring his stats.

She secretly dubbed Chekov "Bionic Barby." The instructor would make GI Jane look like a sissy, and her intolerance of 'slackers' was off the charts. 

"Private Strickland, get your mediocre ass going before I come up there and show you how it is done!"

Chekov should thank her lucky stars that she couldn't take the watch off.

It was her third one. The previous two couldn't contain her power, but this version made her constantly feel like her knees were about to buckle.

The uniform made her overheated skin feel like she wore steel wool. Mud crawled its way into places slimy, grainy, muddy goo had no right to be, and she'd already failed the obstacle course twice since six this morning.

She checked the bile rising in her throat, forcing herself to continue.

When she told Strickland earlier that the watch made her too weak, the doctor wouldn't budge.

"Adversity builds character," Dana said, and she had to keep herself from telling the woman where she could stick that platitude.

***

She still remembered her final briefing two weeks ago.

"We have decided to use my identity to give credibility to yours. Everyone will believe that I'm your older sister and that our parents died in a car accident when you were younger," Dana explained while they were sorting out the paperwork in her office.

"Your new Identity Documents have you listed as Christen Maria Strickland—nineteen years of age. High school dropout who just got her GED last week," she checked the documents as she placed them on the table.

"Your files say you spent two years in a juvenile detention facility for stealing some rich guy's car, taking it for a joyride, and crashing it while under the influence of alcohol."

Their eyes briefly met, and hearing those words stung. Even after death, her past followed her.

"We thought using the details of your old troubles at school would lend legitimacy to the lie and depict you as a troubled young adult about to go off the rails while giving you facts to work off that you do not need to think about."

"According to the record, I am our parent's estate executor. I 'forced' you to enlist in the army, and if you can get through your tour of duty, I will give you your share of our parent's money. It's actually the money from your parents' estate."

Her hands tightened, and the steel office chair bent. She never even thought about that, and knowing she would inherit her father's holdings and her mother's investments didn't sit right with her.

They were dead because of her; even if it was her sister's fault, they didn't know.

"That money does not belong to me," she bit out when Strickland raised a brow, her gaze nailed to the chair.

Christen gently tried to bend it back into its former shape, but it didn't help much.

"We both know that isn't true," Dana said.

Tears burned in her throat as she thought about those last moments before the crash.

"They were fighting over me when..."

"If they were fighting over you, they still cared. Parents who don't care don't bother to fight about things. They just become quiet."

There was a story behind those words and the sudden starkness of the doctor's expression.

***

The whole point of basic training was for her to relearn how to be a "normal" person. Their secret was a matter of national security, and any breach would end both their lives. Adding to the pressure, this was their first mission.

Several female trainees from this particular base committed suicide over the last two years. They were all underachievers capable of more but not quite able to put in the effort, and they all ended their lives with prescription pills not prescribed to them.

If they were successful, there would be another mission; if they failed, she'd be terminated. Despite everything, the thought kept her going and made her defy the Terrelium23A compound's effects which included profuse sweating, jitters, weakness, nausea, night terrors, constant pain, and fever.

Christen dropped to her feet on the other side of the mud, and her knees almost buckled.

Sheer willpower kept her on her feet and forging onward, but she almost hesitated before tackling the barbwire obstacle. Gritting her teeth, she dove into the mud and crawled through it.

Black spots danced before her eyes as she reached the swinging rope, but she charged it, barely held on, and made it over.

Her knees gave way on landing, but she struggled upright and reached the wall.

She hated it.

How did normal people get over this monstrosity? She had no idea how she reached the top, but she stood there, knees and arms shaking, and thoughts swimming.

The memory of Strickland telling her she couldn't fly made her glance down, and she swayed, almost falling.

"Get going, Strickland. You can't stand up there all day!"

Christen repelled down the other side and ran the last two hundred meters to the flag, falling over the line and staying there as her ragged breathing stirred the dust.

"Congratulations Strickland, you made it within the allotted time. Get yourself cleaned up and go to the mess hall before you pass out," Sergeant Nate Driscoll congratulated, and relief flooded Christen. She would have died if she had to do that one more time.

"No, Sergeant. Private Strickland just proved that she'd been slacking, and there's no room for slackers in this army. She will clean herself up and report for PT with Sergeant Mills," Commander Chekov countered the Sergeant and Christen nearly groaned. 

Sergeant Retha Mills was relentless.

A fourth-generation army brat who intended to have a career in the army. Her father and grandfather were still serving as a brigadier and a general, something she lorded over them. Both her uncles and all four of her other siblings were also in the armed forces.

The woman had a legacy to live up to and had to prove her metal

Chekov and Mills topped Christen's suspect list, but there were fifteen other possibilities she would have to eliminate first. Helpful Sergeant Driscoll ranked third on her list.

***

Just after sunset, Christen rushed into the ablution block and vomited for the second time. She frowned at the dark blood in her spew, but she would survive. The Terrelium23A was poisoning her, but that was the point.

No one said "Kryptonite" would be pleasant.

"Are you all right, Private Strickland? Sergeant Mills said you became disorientated during PT and vomited," Commander Chekov asked on the other side of the door, and Christen frowned.

She didn't expect concern from Chekov.

"I'm fine, Sir," Christen managed, forcing herself to her feet and wiping her mouth.

She pulled the chain to ensure the blood washed away before resolutely opening the door.

Chekov hadn't budged, and she watched as Christen washed her hands and rinsed out her mouth.